Dragon Duties
by Caladria101
Summary: The most tedious of draconic tasks. First attempt at McCaffrey fic, be honest!
1. Oiling

Oiling.

A tedious task for every rider, a needed and welcome relief to every dragon.

He repeated his personal mantra to himself as he began.

"Why couldn't you be a green? Or a blue?" he grumbled. "There's so much _less_ of them."

_Because then I wouldn't be a bronze. I wouldn't be one of the strongest dragons in the weyr and _you_ would not a wingleader._

"You may have a point there, my dear."

A large, whirling eye regarded his human companion. _I always have a point. You're the chatterbox._

The rider began oiling over a scar, barely visible on the hide.

"Last Fall of the last Turn. You did some fairly impressive _between_ing to stop that being serious."

_I'm always impressive_

"And modest to go with it."

_If I was not, we would not be wingleaders. We would be wingseconds._

The rider laughed at the draconic logic behind the statement, and gave his lifemate an affectionate thump.

He continued to oil, complain and banter with his dragon, as he always did.

The thing the Candidates and weyrlings never did get told, though they often cited oiling as the least pleasant task of dragon care, is that oiling was the activity that allowed the partnership to blossom and just to _be_.

Not focused on Thread, or who would win the mating flight, or even the trivialities of everyday living.

Just man and dragon in that ancient partnership.

Oiling.

_I had a few things pointed out that were wrong with this (thanks Orlith, and especially astrokath (the sentence is still clunky, I know), so this is minor editing._


	2. Feeding

_Thanks to Bryan McMahon for the idea in his review – I'm going to take it and use it shamelessly._

_Another edit to this. Thanks to astrokath again, for pointing out stuff I should have noticed myself._

He was flirting shamelessly with a failed candidate when his dragon petitioned for his attention.

_Hungry._

He frowned, mainly annoyed because he was getting somewhere with this one, _You're always hungry_ he replied silently, cursing the timing.

_I'm not always hungry – _you're _always hungry – you eat three times a day. I eat three times a week. _And_ I'm bigger than you._

His companion, seeing the unfocused look in his eye, made her excuses and left. One of the first things you had to learn, when involving yourself with dragonriders, is that you were always second best. Their heart, affections and loyalty had a prior claim.

He sighed in resignation, but quickly focused his attention on his dragon.

_If I was bigger than you, dear heart, you wouldn't be able to carry me, and then where would Pern be?_

_Never, _came the quick rejoinder, _I always have been able to, and always will be able to carry you. And dragonmen must fly, when Thread is in the sky._

He smiled at his dragon's emphatic words as he made his way to the feeding ground. Several dragons were there already, including a young green that he knew would rise soon.

_Not today, _offered his dragon, _but in the next sevenday._

_Got it all planned out, have you?_

If dragons could smile, he swore his would be doing so now.

_She is a well formed green. And greens are…fun._

_Fun?_

_You do, _the dragon replied slyly, _why can't I?_

In anywhere but the Weyr, his smothered laughter would be stared at. Here, a passing glance told the Weyrfolk what they needed to know.

_Funny. Very funny._ It always amazed him that dragons had a sense of humour. He supposed that it wasn't that strange, that his life's partner had a slyness to him that so perfectly complimented his own, but it never ceased to amaze him.

Some parts of being a dragonrider would never cease to amaze him.

He lazily watched as the dragon made his first kill, dispatching the herdbeast with a controlled strength.

By the time the rider had decided that really, enough was enough, there were four less herdbeasts in the Weyr's stock.

_That's enough, greedy._

_Greedy? Tollanath has had _six_ and I don't hear his rider insulting him._

_Probably because you're not listening hard enough._

_Maybe. His rider is boring. He likes weather. _The dragon huffed to show his opinion of this hobby.

_Weather is important for flying, dearest, _his rider replied, obligingly scratching the eye ridges.

_Well you look at weather, _the dragon conceded, _but you don't think about it all the time!_

_Oh, go and curl up in the sun. _This, the rider assumed, was from Tollanath.

_I will do, _the dragon replied.

Then as a parting shot to his rider, _Told you so. Weather all the way._

This time his rider made no effort to smother his laughter.


	3. Thread part one

_In response to one review; no the rider is not HAD, but the dragons speak to whom they will, if Tollanath wanted both rider and dragon to hear him, then both rider and dragon would have heard him…_

Thread.

Even after years of fighting it, he still got a thrill from the thought that _he_ got to defend his world from the menace.

_Wake up, _he silently called.

_I am awake. Today we fight Thread. Of course I am awake, _replied his dragon, mock-hurt. _You are just not ready yet._

_What's the point in being ready, _the rider countered, _if you are not even awake?_

The dragon snorted, audibly, then raised himself off the couch.

_See? I am awake. Where's the…_ The mental voice trailed off as the rider strode in, carrying the harness.

"Where's the what, sorry?" he teased.

_Hurry up! I want to **fly!**_

"You will do, don't worry," the rider replied, never failing to be amused by the impatience of his dragon, like a petulant child on an outing.

He started to fasten the harness around the great bronze body, in a manoeuvre so often practiced by the pair that conscious thought wasn't necessary.

"How's Gretath doing?" he asked, ducking under the dragon's neck just as his partner raised his head to allow him to do so.

_It is her first fall in a true wing. She is excited. Her rider is nervous. _The dragon paused to consider. _They will do well. They are both eager for the fight._

"Not like you, all calm and collected."

The dragon turned and huffed over his rider in response, then lifted his wing to allow his partner access.

"Ask Sprenith to ask M'car if his wing is fine in their position, or if they want to swap, will you?" he asked, testing the strength of the straps.

_The Fat One says that they are fine unless they receive too many Threadscores. If they do, we will take the upper level and they will drop down. He reminds you that he has three new weyrling graduates in his wing._

The rider frowned absently, mentally picturing the tactics that were being presented.

"There's something…undignified…about referring to your Weyrleader as "the Fat One", you know," he commented lightly. "Right. Done."

_He was the Fat One before Sprenith flew Bedreth. He has been the Fat One since I have been your world. When my egg cracked, he was the Fat One._

His rider grinned in fleeting remembrance of his Impression, how his new lifemate had wailed at "the Fat One" getting in the way of him as he desperately searched for a partner. Who'd have thought that the two newly Impressed bronzeriders would be where they are now?

"Call the WingSeconds. We're ready," he said, trying and failing miserably to inject some severity and gravity into his voice.

_The wing is called._

As the rider leapt onto his dragon with practiced ease, the dragon let out a mighty bugle and exited his weyr to do the job he was bred to do.


	4. Thread part two

Landing in the same place he always landed before Threadfall – and the rider would always swear blind that there were neat depressions in the ground for his dragon's feet and tail – the bronze let out a bugle, calling his wing again.

_They're already on their way, you know, _the rider informed his dragon, amused despite himself.

The dragon ignored him. Instead, he turned his great head in preparation of accepting firestone from his rider.

_Tollanath says it is chilly but fine where Thread falls. I have thanked him for you, _the dragon added, pre-empting his rider's next words.

_Ask the wing if they all know what they are to do, _asked the rider, accepting firestone from a weyrling with a wave of thanks.

_Torrith says, do you not trust his rider? Of course they do, _retorted his dragon, his jaws working on the rock. Of the weyrling, he commented, _She is a fine beast._

_You're just saying that because you sired her, _replied the rider, almost absently passing another piece of firestone to his lifemate.

_Yes._

The two fell silent after this – no words were needed as they prepared themselves for the truest test of their bond – the dragon trusting his rider's directions implicitly, and the rider trusting his dragon's skill equally so.

The rider looped the firestone sack around the harness securely, knowing that his dragon had had enough, then looked back at his wing,. He took in the gleaming hides of the browns, blues and greens, almost unconsciously noting that they all appeared healthy and ready for the battle ahead. He saw the whirling eyes of each and every dragon, and knew that they were all as ready as his for the struggle. These riders, and their dragons, were _his_ responsibility – his decisions could decide their very fate, and, as always, he swore that he would do his very best to live up to the trust placed in him.

_**We** will do **our** very best, _corrected the dragon, firmly, and then turned to watch the Weyrleader pair for the signal that would send them aloft and away.


End file.
